Last Lecture
by magnipisika16
Summary: Taking the bullet for someone is always hard when that very person is also the one on the other end of the trigger.


**A/N: Hel-lo~ Before anything else, I have some sort of thing to say to you, sweet fandom of Hetalia – Axis Powers, especially the UsUk fandom which I am currently falling into head over heels.**

**No, I am not part of this sweet fandom xD So I apologize in advance for any failure made by me in any aspect (especially characterization). This is my input for an OTP challenge between me, vividpast, and theSardonyx, wherein we write a fic for each of the two other's fandom's (In my case, it's Merlin and Hetalia, for vividpast and theSardonyx respectively).**

**I hope you guys enjoy this re-stated clichéd trope I don't think anybody would need anymore, but hey why not ^^**

**Last Lecture**

Taking the bullet for someone is always so hard when that very person is also the one holding the trigger.

Of all the lessons Arthur had taught Alfred, this was probably the hardest one.

Yet it is also the most crucial for his growth. How can Alfred survive on his own if he can't even point a gun properly to an enemy?

"Always—_always_—disregard your past relations", that was what experience has taught him. The past is the past, and no amount of love or compassion founded from that past can stop him from disproving the present.

And the present was this: he was driven to a corner and a gun was in his hand and the enemy lay alone and weary a few meters from where he stood.

And all he needed was to pull the trigger.

It should be easy, of course, seeing that he's been through this dozens of times that it's almost a regimen—a cycle of some sorts that he has to go through to protect himself and his people. And to make him stronger for future circumstances.

It's a win-win situation, and it basically effortless on his part…

"A-Arthur…"

…So what was making it so hard for him?

The green-eyed fellow donned in red, white, and black frowned upon his former student, filling the younger one with disdain and disappointment.

Never had he felt so disappointed in his life. Seeing that man makes him, the teacher, feel like a failure.

What on earth did he lack teaching him that made a simple task of pulling the trigger feel like the most impossible task of all? He never signed up to raise a weakling like him.

But he was already there, so the brit had no choice but to do his job.

"What are you waiting for?" he taunted weakly. "Just pull the trigger and win, dumbass."

Alfred's blue eyes broke a bit as he tried to straighten is weakening stance. He tried his very best to keep the gun pointed at him, and only to him, but somehow, his own arms was failing him.

Gravity was pulling it down, and he couldn't fight it.

"I…"

"You what?"

Alfred's trembling blue eyes lifted themselves to meet Arthur's green ones, and he's never been so hurt all his life to see that the once gentle pair of jade orbs have turned into stone cold and frozen ones.

It made him wonder: if he aimed there and pulled the trigger still, will the stone-cold stare break and give him a way back to Arthur's old loving eyes?

The assurance—or lack thereof—gave him almost zero motivation to even keep his arm up, let alone keep the gun aimed at him in hope that maybe the strength to pull the trigger will come a little while later.

"What's stopping you?" Arthur finally gnarls impatiently. "You're the hero, right?! And a hero's job is to defeat all enemies, so I want you to act the part!" He spread his arms wide, expanding Alfred's possible target range.

But still, his index figure refused to move.

"You're not my enemy, Arthur…"

Arthur's lips were pressed into a thin line. In one swift movement, he cocked his gun and began shooting. Three of Alfred's men went down so easily, it took the blue-eyed man too long to just count the casualties.

"I am now…"

Three. Arthur was able to kill three men so easily, when he himself can't kill a certain one on his own.

And he had at least fifteen men still standing beside him.

How pathetic has he become?

"Arthur, don't make me do this!" Alfred tried again. "I can't shoot you! So please! Just surrender! You're the only one left standing, so please…"

"Why can't you shoot?!" was Arthur's response, his voice gradually rising into resentment and pain. He sounds as if he'd accept this conclusion more graciously than anything, and with Alfred's sloppy whining, he's getting miles away from him own salvation.

Why won't Alfred just shoot him? It'll be easier that way.

"Because I…"

Much, much easier.

"Because what?!"

_Too easy…_

"_BECAUSE I DON'T KNOW HOW_!" was Alfred's final cry before he fell down on his knees, crying.

No matter how much he tries, he can never pull the trigger.

Arthur watched his former student first with cold, unperturbed eyes, but even the most frigid of stares can melt down to compassion and love if the person you had once raised as your own is in front of you, breaking in half.

The green-eyed fellow donned in red, white, and black hated himself for not following his own rules.

"Is that it?" he asks softly, tenderly. "That's the only problem? You don't know how to shoot?" To Alfred's surprise, Arthur was smiling a broken smile. It seemed surreal, seeing that they were at war, but somehow, it was comforting Alfred.

Like everything was going to be okay as long as Arthur smiles like that.

But it wasn't. They both knew it wasn't.

Not like this. Not when everything's like this.

"Goodness, Alfred, and here I thought I've trained you well…"

Arthur began taking steps. Not backwards, like how Alfred wanted him to, but forward, to where he and his men were standing. The rest of Alfred's men began aiming, but they were shut down by a wave of Alfred's hand.

_Let my teacher come to me, even if it's for the last time…_

And the soldiers complied. All of them watched as Arthur went near Alfred, and crouched before him, taking his trembling hand and his revolver into his calm hands.

"I thought I taught you how some years before," Arthur said, raising it a little. Alfred was horrified.

"Arthur, what're you…"

"It's pretty simple, really, all you have to do is hold it firmly." Alfred unconsciously allowed Arthur to rearrange his fingers, giving him a better grip of his revolver.

He felt sick watching his teacher fix both his stance and his grip like he was teaching the other how to write for the first time.

"Now put your finger on the trigger, like this…"

"Arthur, no…"

"Now, aim…"

"Arthur, I don't want to!"

But his fingers were already too weak to resist, and all his fingers could do was follow Arthur's orders like how they were trained to.

"Now…" He pulls Alfred's arm up, and makes the revolver point to his chest.

"Press, don't pull…"

"Arthur…"

"Take the slack out of the trigger by pulling enough to the point of resistance…"

"ARTHUR!"

But Arthur was not listening. His thumb was already over Alfred's index finger, trapping him to pull the trigger despite his resistance.

"Finally, don't anticipate the force…"

He began pressing his index finger down, subsequently pressing the trigger as well.

"And simply surprise yourself…"

"Arthur, no!"

_BANG!_

The war zone, for once, was filled with nothing but eerie silence, save for the low humming of the winds, the distant trotting coming from afar, and the soft, almost inaudible weeping as the last lecture draws to a close.

-**FIN-**

**Edit: Found the other version! Behold, the "finished" one orz**

**To Yuna, I am so sorry for this ;w; I sure do hope I did justice for your bby. Maybe in the future, I'll be making better ones for this, but right now, this is all I can muster. Thanks for your help in my other fics, Yuna, and I sure do hope my weird reactions for yours motivate you 3**


End file.
